


Creek Gothic

by Noip13



Category: Craig of the Creek (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Child Death, Gen, Gothic, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 02:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17653910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noip13/pseuds/Noip13
Summary: A series of snippets about what the Creek's children do not discuss.----1. Those who come to the Creek must drink.





	Creek Gothic

Those who come to the Creek must drink.

 

That doesn't, of course, include the visitors. Visitors come to the woods, but not to the Creek. Those deaf ones, they take one look at the muddy waters and turn their noses up, quite reasonably. They would not dream of drinking even a sip without a good helping of purifying chemicals. 

 

(The Creek laughs at such things. As soon as a human brew touches their Being, it is part of Them. Nothing, nothing happens in their Waters that they do not will.)

 

(Every human toxin that finds its way into Them, by runoff, by rain, by any means, the Creek braids throughout their Currents, surfacing where they need to poison, buried where they need to nurture. Pebbles card through their Depths, selecting the purest strands for ones who deserve and necessitate such clarity.)

 

Those ones, they might come, yes, and they never come back, and we will speak of them no longer.

 

The ones who stay?

 

(The ones that see a Spot cleared of leaves, pristine and unclouded, and every warning ever heard is so distant in the mind in the glint of the sun off their Ripples, Rocks shining, Trickles humming and skittering and worming so subtly, boring in through the ear and weaving through brain and nerve and between molecules, pulling, pulling, pulling until suddenly, one is kneeling on the stones by that shore and their Stones press on knobby knees and leave marks and never cut and always draw blood, drop and dribble, with each sip?)

 

(The ones that sees those Waters and are suddenly parched, tongue thick and gummed, skin powdery, mouth dry, the dirt around them sand, trees withered and brown, grass gray and thin and papery, the sun growing and growing and growing, closer and closer, screaming, absolutely screaming, louder than the new baby in the next bedroom over, louder than anything, piercing bright until looking anywhere at all hurts, so even with eyes closed one’s eyelids are burning, and everything is burning, everything is fire and heat and dry and the only thing to do, the only thing that makes sense, is to throw one’s burning flesh into Them and gulp Them until the world stops setting fire to one’s meat?)

 

(The ones that slide back and forth on their hard Shell, fracturing, cracking, snapping, shattering, until just the right one is at just the right place, and the Creek lets one through, wraps around as much of this one as they can, and whatever happens to it, it always will have drunk from their Waters?)

 

(The ones who are reckless, careless, have been taught nothing and have learned less? The ones who don’t care? The ones they can pull and push and pressure, twist and prod and entice, shape and thread through their Land?)

 

The ones the Creek calls?

 

One way or another, they always, always drink. 

**Author's Note:**

> If there's one thing fandom has taught me, it's that nothing's more rewarding than corrupting than a children's cartoon. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcomed--please, tear me apart.
> 
> Feel free to come talk on [my tumblr](http://noip13.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
